


it's cold, but not with you

by panda_parade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Making Out, Shotgunning, and then seijoh makes fun of them lmAo, matsukawa takes hanamaki's shotgun virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_parade/pseuds/panda_parade
Summary: It’s cold out tonight, but Mastukawa’s there to warm him up. It’s quiet, too, but Matsukawa’s presence fills the silence. Matsukawa’s there and, really, that’s all Hanamaki needs.or: Mattsun & Makki shotgun
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101
Collections: kagsivity's fic archive





	it's cold, but not with you

**Author's Note:**

> \- would high key sell my soul to have a sesh w matsuhana but that's besides the point ᕙ(░ಥ╭͜ʖ╮ಥ░)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ  
> \- um just a disclaimer i have no idea what it's like being high or how that even works all of my (very little) knowledge is from fanfics i've read and the internet so none of it's prolly accurate lmAo but um ya ahahaha n e wayz~

It’s cold out tonight.

It’s cold out, but it would be colder if they hadn't been on this very roof so many times before, with the sky curving over them, clouds hanging like gauzy curtains, stars washed out, somehow being outshone by artificial lights from surrounding buildings. It would be colder if Hanamaki hadn’t accidentally Pavlov’d warmth to twinkle across his skin every time he stepped out onto this rooftop with Matsukawa. 

It’s cold out, but it would be colder without the warm body currently pressed against his side. Without the breath ghosting over the shell of his ear every now and again, without the tangle of their legs and the not-so-accidental brush of their fingers. 

It’s quiet, too. 

It’s quiet, but there’s always the little things. Like the wind: harsh, grating, and whistling past his ears in the late autumn air. The white noise of faraway cars, telling them there’s a world outside of the little bubble they’ve created for themselves. 

It’s quiet, but it would be quieter without the heartbeat in his ears. Without the crinkle of the blunt passing between their fingers, without the lazy hits Matsukawa’s taking next to him and the gentle exhales that follow.

Hanamaki’s not sure what gives him the courage. Maybe it’s the buzz he’s already got going, wrapping around his brain and puppeteering his words, or maybe it’s the storm of anxiety that disrupts his warmth when he thinks about how these nights aren’t going to last much longer. 

He’s not sure but it’s there because when Matsukawa offers him the blunt, instead of accepting he stares. Stares and then says, “Shotgun me.” 

There’s a moment where nothing happens. Nothing happens and it lasts long enough for a smidge of doubt to fight past the haze in his mind. Regret is soon to follow, and Hanamaki’s entirely prepared to laugh it off, pretend he’s joking before Matsukawa can push him away.

But then Matsukawa’s slinging his free arm across Hanamaki’s shoulders, using the other to bring the blunt back up to his lips. Long fingers turn his chin and then he’s looking at Matsukawa’s lazy smile as it leans towards him. Hanamaki doesn’t register that he should be opening his mouth, half convinced that this is some sort of high-induced hallucination. The fingers still on his chin traverse across the underside of his jaw before drifting up to poke his cheek.

Hanamaki blinks. Matsukawa’s eyes are twinkling, projecting the light the stars couldn’t. 

His lips part of their own volition. 

Matsukawa leans in, mouth opening against his own. Hanamaki belatedly notices the smoke filtering into his lungs, much more focused on the barely-there brush of lips against his. Is still entirely honed in on that feeling in particular and it’s because of that that the coughing fit happens. 

Matsukawa pulls back, hand disappearing from around his shoulders in favor of rubbing slow circles into the small of Hanamaki’s back as he tries not to cough out his insides. 

“Shotgun virgin?” Matsukawa asks once Hanamaki’s lungs have stopped trying to shoot out of his throat, voice lilting in amusement. The hand’s still trailing across the curve of his spine and Hanamaki’s finding it just a little too hard to shift his focus from Matsukawa’s lips to the words coming out of them. 

Hanamaki hums. “Is that mockery I hear?” He forcefully drags his eyes up the gentle curve of Matsukawa’s nose to focus on his half-lidded stare. “And after I saved myself for you all these years? Tch, the audacity.” 

Matsukawa gives him that lopsided smile of his, and Hanamaki’s heart gets hit by vertigo. 

“Besides,” Hanamaki huffs, speaking without thinking in his mission to get his heart rate back to normal. “I was distracted.” 

“Yeah?” Matsukawa shifts slightly, subtly tugging Hanamaki forward a bit. Moves a hand behind him to put out the blunt against the ground. “What by?” 

Hanamaki inhales, breathing in the faint traces of cologne and smoke clinging to Matsukawa’s skin. “You.” 

“Me?” He’s so much closer now. 

“Yeah. You.” 

And he’s still moving forward. Getting closer, eyes dipping down to his lips, staying there when he says, “Makki?”

Closer, closer…

“Hm?”

So, _so_ close… 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Almost there…

Hanamaki’s pretty sure Matsukawa feels his whispered ‘yes’ more than hears it, because he’s been moving forward too, and then those lips are against his again. Except this time they aren’t a phantom touch. They’re pressing against his, hot and insistent and very much _there_.

Fingers slip under his sweatshirt, pressing into the dimples at his lower back, searing hot even through the fabric of his shirt. A tongue swipes against his lower lip and Hanamaki doesn’t think. Doesn’t need to. He’s never needed to with Matsukawa. His mouth drops open, warm and pliant as he lets Matsukawa push in, leaning over him and forcing an arch into his back. 

“Mattsun,” he breathes as a tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth becomes open-mouthed kisses trailing down his jaw, stopping at the juncture where his jaw meets his ear, tongue drawing lazy circles just below it. 

Matsukawa pulls away slightly, and it’s a sight Hanamaki’s never going to forget. He’s leaning over him, gaze somehow dark while retaining it’s normal bored look, lips bitten red and tilting up carelessly, just enough to show the barely-there dimple on the right side of his smile. For a moment he just stares. And then grins, bright and beautiful and the breath rushes out of Hanamaki. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers at the end of a choked exhale. 

Matsukawa bites his lower lip. “Yeah? Gorgeous enough to call me your boyfriend?” 

Hanamaki scoffs. “You took my shotgun virginity. It’d be extremely uncouth of you _not_ to court me.” 

Matsukawa snickers. “Right, forgive my inadequacy.”

“Been doing that since we were first years.” 

“Please refrain from verbally abusing your boyfriend while he is in the process of courting you.” 

_Boyfriend_. Hanamaki shivers.

“Maybe if you were good at it, I wouldn’t have the breath to spare.” 

There’s a predatory grin on his face when he leans in, eyes gleaming with the prospect of a challenge. “Bet.” 

It’s cold out tonight, but Mastukawa’s there to warm him up. 

It’s quiet, too, but Matsukawa’s presence fills the silence. 

Matsukawa’s there and, really, that’s all Hanamaki needs. 

( ͡°👅 ͡°)( ͡°👅 ͡°)( ͡°👅 ͡°)( ͡°👅 ͡°)

“Woah, woah, what the heck?” Oikawa demands, eyes fixed on Matsukawa’s now-shirtless torso. 

They’re in the locker rooms, getting changed before volleyball practice. Hanamaki looks up, in the process of stripping his own shirt, at Oikawa’s outburst.

Actually, everyone looks up at Oikawa’s outburst. The team's eyes are trained on a confused Matsukawa, who gets a shrug when he looks over at Hanamaki for help. 

“Oh captain, my captain,” Matsukawa drawls, dipping into an exaggerated bow and nearly folding himself in half, “How can I, a mere peasant, be of service to you?” 

But Hanamaki’s brain barely registers the second half of that sentence, too focused on stifling a gasp at the sight of Matsukawa’s back. Which is currently covered in scratch marks, long lines of red trailing along the curve of his spine. 

Ok. In Hanamaki’s defense. Matsukawa took that challenge _very_ seriously. 

There’s an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks but it’s all he can do not to dissolve into a fit of laughter as the rest of the team notices the marks and falls into expressions ranging from traumatized (Kindaichi) to shock (literally everybody else.)

“Mattsun…” Oikawa says, eyes carefully flitting from him to Hanamaki, who gives him an innocent smile. “What happened to your back?” He says it slowly, like he’s afraid of the answer.

From behind him, Iwaizumi sighs. “Do you have to ask?” 

Matsukawa stands upright, blinking once, before seeming to realize what Oikawa means. He flashes a crooked grin, eyes drifting to Hanamaki. 

“Why don’t you ask Makki? He probably knows best.” 

There’s a moment of stillness, where everyone just. Just take a moment to _register_. Slowly, in a creepily synchronized fashion, all eyes turn to Hanamaki.

He blinks. Throws up a peace sign. 

The entire team heaves a collective groan, Iwaizumi’s voice popping out as it berates Oikawa about how “You just _had_ to fucking ask.” 

And in the midst all of it is Matsukawa, hands on his hips and a proud twinkle in his eye as he grins at Hanamaki. 

Hanamaki smiles back. 

They air high-five.

**Author's Note:**

> \- i tried to be poetic lmAo idrk if i like how this turned out but o well 
> 
> \- kudos & comments are appreciated, tysm for reading <33
> 
> \- vibe w me on tumblr @panda-parade03


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